Living To Death
by lauraforthewinoswald
Summary: Amy and Rory attempt their new lives in New York circa 1938. Stuck in a world where men aren't allowed to join nursing school and Hitler is named 'Man of The Year' by Time magazine; can these two survive their futures in the past?
1. September 1938

Rory found himself in the middle of Times Square, abuzz with electric lights. It was the night of the 23rd of September 1938. He looked around through the traffic and the crowds of people in search of Amy. He tried to recall the tombstone he'd seen. He couldn't remember if Amy's name was next to his. He didn't care if he never got back home again as long as Amy was buried beside him at that gravesite. He prayed to the angels to bring her to him.

Rory stayed in Times Square all night until the sun rose of the morning of the 24th. He started walking towards Central Park. Maybe Amy left with The Doctor and left him to live to death just like last time. If Amy was sent back to 1938 with him and she wasn't in Central Park then she'd more than likely be waiting at the cemetery. After waiting in Central Park for hours, Rory figured it was his last shot. He arrived at the cemetery around 3pm and Amy was nowhere to be found. Over 24 hours without sleep was getting to him and Rory felt himself nodding off. He resigned himself to sleeping on a bench at the edge of the cemetery.

Amy found herself on the corner of 7th Ave. and West 125th. The clock by the shoe shop said it was a quarter to 4pm. It was September 24th 1938 and she seemed to be standing out of the crowd in her tight blue jeans. People were giving her the eye. Amy was only mildly aware of the stares, she was busy looking for her husband. The angels had to have sent him to the same time, they just had to. She figured maybe they had just taken him to another part of town.

She'd try Central Park first with no luck. She asked around if anyone had seen a tall, disoriented-looking thin man walking around the park but there seemed to be a great deal of homeless people fitting that very description. It was half past 5pm when Amy finally made it to the cemetery. She wandered around ready to give up hope until she noticed a familiar pair of shoes peeking out from a makeshift blanket fashioned out of newspaper.

"Rory!" She ran to him and woke him up.

He shot up and gasped noticing Amy. "I thought, I'd lost you!" He kissed her passionately.

"How long have you been here?" Amy asked as she looked at her severely disheveled husband.

"The angels dropped me off in the middle of Times Square last night." He groaned as he attempted to stand.

"I only just got here 2 hours ago. You've been sleeping on a bench all this time?" Amy looked worried. "Where are we going to stay, Rory? I don't... I don't think he's coming back.. The Doctor said this was a fixed point now. There's so many paradoxes that it would rip New York apart if he tried to come here again." Amy's eyes were beginning to water.

"Well, we've ripped apart the universe so many times I've lost count" Rory's droll reply made Amy chuckle through her tears.

They tried to hitch a ride on the subway but the tunnels were closed due to flooding.

"Flooding?" Amy asked. "Was there some kind of storm?"

"Are you trying to be funny? Cuz that ain't the least bit funny" A construction worker who'd come up from the tunnel below gave her a stern look. "Didn't your mother ever teach you it's better to be seen, not heard?"

"What?" Amy's eyes widened in disbelief.

"I said, you're really pretty but don't go ruining it by pretending you're smart." The man replied

"Give me your shovel." Amy walked towards him. "I'm about to knock some sense into that Neanderthal brain of yours."

"Whoa, Amy." Rory lunged in front of his wife. "Just relax... this is no time to fly off the handle, right?"

"I can't do this, Rory! I can't do this!" Amy yelled and punched Rory's shoulder in frustration. "I gotta get out of here."

"Ouch" Rory braced himself.

The man laughed. "You need to learn to control your woman."

"And you need to learn some manners." Rory turned around and shot back. "Now we're obviously not from around here and we're not entirely sure what's going on so just tell us what's happened."

"Hurricane came through on the 21st. Hundreds are dead and plenty more injured." The man hung his head mournfully.

"Where's the nearest hospital in need of assistance? I could help." Rory asked.

"Are you a doctor?" The man suddenly changed his tone. "I'm sorry about disrespecting you, sir. It was just..."

"You owe my wife the apology, not me." Rory was dead serious.

"Sorry, miss" The man bowed. "And to answer your question. There's St. Vincent's."

As they walked to 7th Avenue Amy tried to stop Rory. "You think you can just walk into the hospital and say 'Hi, I'm a time travelling nurse from the future and I heard you might be needing some assistance.' And they're just going to give you a job on the stop?"

"What have we got left to lose?" Rory shrugged. "If we're stuck here then we might as well make the most of it."

Rory was met with some confusion but there was such a shortage of nurses they allowed him to stay. But not without a lot of grumbling. "The American Nurses Association doesn't even allow men to join." One of the nurses scoffed.

"Good thing I'm not an American then" Rory shot back as he got to work.

Amy wasn't sure what she ought to do with herself. Back home she was a writer and a model. She couldn't seem to find a job as quickly as Rory did but at least now they had something. He'd been working at St. Vincent's for a little over a month but nursing didn't earn much. All they could get their hands on was a tiny, rundown flat in the middle of Brooklyn.


	2. Only The Beginning

As October rolled in, the air got colder and they had to keep the stove on to warm the house some nights. Amy was beginning to contact different publishers about working as a typist or editor or just anything. She'd finally started getting the hang of writing on the old typewriter without all the letters getting jumbled up at once. She still missed those 21 century comforts and wasn't sure if she'd ever stop missing them.

Rory was never very big on Twitter updates or selfies. And besides the fact that he was the only male nurse in his entire hospital, he seemed to be at home in the past. Rory loved those ridiculous old Laurel and Hardy comedies that made Amy fall asleep and he'd always been the 'traditional' sort. But in the 30's he was the modern sort and Amy was even more of an oddball than she was back home.

Amy would spend her days writing her stories while Rory went to work. The story of a little girl who meets a mysterious man with no name, known simply as The Curator. And a boy who spends 2,000 years trying to keep his girl safe. She spent weeks sending it to different publishers and after a month of nothing, a bite from a little publishing company picked up her story.

Their neighborhood in Brooklyn grew more and more crowded as immigrants from Eastern Europe continued to pour in. They were mostly families of Jews running away from the growing hate campaign set against them. Rich and poor alike found themselves cramming into tiny flats. Amy and Rory stuck out as obvious gentiles but they were from Great Britain so many assumed they were running away from the Nazis too. Even though the Blitz wouldn't hit London for another 2 years and the draft wouldn't start till next year, they were already starting to feel the grip of the Nazis tightening around them on that little island.

"My entire practice was burned to the ground." A displaced doctor by the name of Bachmann recounted the story of his woes to Rory on the steps outside their building.

"I've been through my share of misfortune but I cannot even begin to contemplate the things your family's going through." Rory looked down at the concrete sidewalk and thought for a moment about all the things to come. He remembered pulling The Pandorica out of the rubble in 1940. There was so much bloodshed still to come. "If it's any consolation, you're out just in time. This is only the beginning." Rory added. "You might face some struggles here too but Europe's about to fall into the biggest war this world has ever seen." Rory meant to give him comfort but came off more like an end-of-days sidewalk prophet.

"Look at our history. It seems like we were made to suffer." The doctor chuckled but quickly turned serious and whispered. "I'm not sure I know who I am anymore. I don't think I believe in God. If he is real, why would he do this?"

"I wish I knew how to reaffirm your faith but I'm on the same boat as you. Just don't let anyone at work know that." Rory laughed. "They already think I'm a little crazy. Best to not let the sisters at St. Vincent's know I'm also a godless heathen."

The doctor laughed and put his arm around Rory's shoulder. "I like you, Williams. You come anytime to my home. You're more than welcome. The door is open to you for supper anytime."

"Thank you. I love my wife but she's a terrible cook." Rory missed microwaves.

Dr. Bachmann laughed. "She's welcome to join too." He paused for a moment. "Um, I hope I am not intruding to ask, but was your wife once a model? She looks like a model I've seen."

Rory laughed. "She used to model but she left the business some time ago. Wanted to focus on her writing."

"Rory!" Amelia yelled from across the street and ran up towards them with a beaming smile on her face. "They loved it! I'm getting published!" She jumped as she squealed with joy.

Rory scooped her up in a big hug a twirled her around. "Amy, I'm so proud of you." He gave her a sweet kiss on the lips.

"Let's celebrate." Amy grabbed her husband's hand and dragged him up the stairs back to their flat.

Some of the guys from the building gathered round Dr. Bachmann when the Williams' had left. "So, it is her?" One of them asked.

"He said she was indeed a model but he called her 'Amy'." The doctor replied.

"Well, maybe it's a nickname"

"I don't think it's her. I believe she is American, not Scottish."

"But the picture looks so much like her, yes?" The men chatted.

"Maybe you all shouldn't be looking at those old dirty pictures!" Mrs. Bachmann chimed in.

"It's not a dirty picture. It's art."

"Yeah" The men all agreed.

"Well, I'm sure all your wives would love to see this 'art' you've been looking at." Mrs. Bachman scoffed. "You all need to leave them alone and mind your own business. You gossip more than the women!" She signaled for her husband to come upstairs and Dr. Bachmann obeyed.

For days after, Rory had noticed some people in the building kept getting his wife's name wrong and decided maybe Amy knew something about it. They were getting ready for bed when he mentioned it. "I've noticed everyone keeps calling you Alice, Alice Wilkie. Do you think it's a language barrier thing or...?"

"Wait, what? Did you say they thought I was Alice Wilkie?" Amy smiled. "Rory, she's a burlesque performer for the Ziegfeld Follies. Want me to recreate some of her more famous poses for you." Amelia began to unbutton her night gown.

"Wait, she poses nude? So the neighbors think you pose for nudes?" Rory started pacing nervously. "Bachmann said you looked like a model he'd seen before. He's seen your nudes"

"Rory, don't be ridiculous, it isn't actually me." Amelia chuckled and began to unbutton her nightgown again. "You know I only pose like that for you."


	3. Patron Saint of Travelers

The lack of modern supplies and medical advancements in 1938 was wearing Rory down at work. Not being able to care for patients properly due to ignorance of future developments in the medical field wasn't the fault of anyone at the hospital but Rory still got frustrated from time to time.

"Doctor, I'm worried. I've lost one before." A young woman by the name of Shirley Baker tried to hold back tears.

"Bleeding a little isn't too uncommon. Have you been feeling any abdominal pain?" Rory asked as he put a hand on the woman's stomach.

"I've been getting cramps but it's too early for that. Right, Doctor." She replied, her eyes wide with worry.

"I'm a nurse actually." He replied.

"But you're a man." The woman looked surprised.

"Yes, very well spotted." He chuckled. "Now if you can give me an idea of the level of pain on a scale from one to ten, ten being the worst."

"I think 6... I guess..." She gasped as she felt herself bleeding more than before.

"Doctor!" Rory ran out of the room and yelled down the hall. "We need a doctor in here now!"

The modern incubator as Rory knew it was still in it's infancy but they had managed to salvage what they could for the time being. "Her name is Mary" The mother spoke softly in her bed. "Can I see her now?"

"Mary's resting now and you need your rest too." Rory checked her pulse on her wrist while he looked at his watch. "You're lucky, you and Mary made it. But she's still very delicate. She's going to have to stay here for a few weeks. She can't breath on her own yet but she's fine, I checked."

Two days passed and everything seemed to be running smoothly until Shirley heard the bad news. It had all happened so suddenly that there was nothing the nurses in the nursery could do. Rory had just walked in to work as the worst part started.

He heard screaming and things crashing. Doctors yelling down the hall. "Get a sedative! She's hysterical!" Rory ran down the hall to the room where all the commotion was coming from. "Williams, glad you're here. These women can't hold her down. Give me a hand, will you?"

Shirley had thrown equipment all over the place and scared some of the other nurses away. A sister stood in the corner with the rosary wrapped around her fingers. "What's happened?" Rory asked as he took Shirley by her wrists and tried to calm her down.

"She's gone! You said she was fine!" Shirley yelled and tried to push Rory away but he had a firmer grip then the other nurses had. "Let me go!"

"I'm so sorry, Shirley. I'm so sorry" Rory's eyes met hers. "I know what you're feeling and I'm so sorry but you have to calm down for me, please."

"I failed her! How do you know what that feels like?! You can't ever understand what I'm feeling!" Shirley broke free from Rory's grasp. "You've never felt a life growing inside you and then having that life taken away from you!"

Rory's eyes worked their hardest to hold back tears. "Ok... You're right. I don't know what that's like. But I know what it's like to feel like you've failed. But I was a father once. I lost my baby too and I'm never going to see her again. You have every right to be angry and you can cry and kick and scream and throw whatever you want! You have every right to grieve but so do I, Amy!" Rory stopped and tried to regain his composure. "I'm sorry..I... Just.. promise me... Promise, you won't let this turn you bitter. Don't let it steal your joy away forever. You can survive this, Shirley."

"How long until I don't feel the pain anymore?" Shirley whispered.

"When you find out you let me know" Rory replied.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." Shirley gave him a hug and sat back down as she wiped her tears from her eyes.

"I've got the sedative!" A nurse came running into the room.

"That won't be necessary, dear." The sister in the corner stepped forward. "It seems our male nurse has everything under control."

Shirley asked to be alone for a moment and Rory left the room with the sister not far behind. "I must say that you've surprised me, Mr. Williams." Sr. Constance gave the male nurse a half smile. "When I heard they'd hired a man I had my reservations. I didn't think you belonged here."

"You wouldn't be the first" Rory looked down at the cold white tiles in the hallway as he spoke.

"But look there." The sister pointed to a picture hanging on the wall. "Saint Raphael, the patron saint of travelers and healers, and male as far as I can tell. You're a healer, Rory Williams and you've traveled a long way to get here. But never forget you've got an angel looking out for you."

"You have no idea." Rory chuckled.

After a long day at the hospital, Rory was glad to come home in the middle of the night to Amy clicking away at her typewriter by candlelight.

"Look, I finally got some new glasses." Amy stood up and greeted her husband with a hug. "Now I can blame the headaches I get from reading my manuscripts on how terrible they are instead of the size of the font."

Rory laughed. "They like your story, Amy. Or else they wouldn't be so interested in you revising it."

"Right, thanks" Amy smiled and planted a big kiss on her husband's lips. "How was work."

"Well, a nun told me angels were watching over me." Rory took off his coat and sat at the edge of the bed.

"Nice" Amy scoffed as she walked with the candle in hand over to the nightstand by the bed. "It's been 3 months. It's going to be 1939 soon. What happens in 1939?"

"Umm... well.." Rory tried to recall. "Last time I was in 1939 I didn't get out much but I think Gone With The Wind is comes out next year."

"The Nazi's are going to take over Czechoslovakia, then Poland... They're going to start opening camps soon..." Amy remembered her history classes. "Things are about to get worse out there."


	4. Cafe Society

"Will you hurry it up!" Amy ran towards the nightclub doors with her husband's hand in hers. They walked in and grabbed a seat at a table in the back. Cafe Society was the only fully integrated clubs in New York.

The backwards concept of 'separate but equal' was something Amy and Rory had a terrible time remembering at first. Amy had walked into a market, right up to a man by a stand of grapes. "Which do you prefer? The red grapes or white grapes?" She asked the man.

He stood looking a bit wide eyed with confusion and chuckled nervously. "I ... um... I guess the red one's ma'am." He smiled.

"Yeah, you're right." Amy grabbed a bag of red grapes. She noticed the cashier look at her funny when she went to checkout but shrugged it off. "Hello, again." She smiled as she saw the man again outside the store.

"You're not from here are you?" He stood at a safe distance with his hands in his pockets as he spoke.

"I'm Scottish." Amy replied.

"I don't know about how things work over there but if people see me talking to you too much people might not like it, you know." He looked over her shoulder at an approaching police officer.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" The officer asked eyeing the man.

"Uh... yeah..." Amy looked confused.

"Yes, sir. She said her bags were so heavy. She asked if I would be so kind as to help her carry her things." The man tipped his hat.

"I'll help you, miss." The officer took some bags from her and hailed a taxi for her. She turned around and the man she'd been speaking to had disappeared.

"Thanks but I really didn't need help." Amy chuckled.

"I figured he was lying. You can't ever trust 'em. He might have told you he'd help with your bags but I'll bet he was out to rob you or worse." The officer opened the taxi door for her. "You shouldn't shop around here. It's too dangerous for a girl as pretty as you with the likes of them around."

It wasn't until she sat down and the cop closed the door behind her that she realized what had happened. She'd started a friendly conversation with a black man in broad daylight in the middle of the street. She never went back there but not for her own safety. It was that man who was in danger, not her. She was so happy to have finally found a place where she didn't have to worry so much about what was acceptable in the world she was now living in. The Cafe Society was for the forward-thinking jazz cats of New York City. They were her kind of people.

"Just think, Lena Horne, Sarah Vaughan, some of the biggest names started out right here." Amy shuffled excitedly in her seat. "I didn't catch who's performing tonight. Did you?"

"Nope, but I'd love to see Lena." Rory replied.

"Oh, I'm sure you would." Amy rolled her eyes. "In that hot Brazilian belly dancer number, right?"

"My interest in her is purely for her talent." Rory took a sip of his beer and hid a shy smile behind his mug. "Besides, I don't think she's made that movie yet, give it a few years."

"If there's one good thing about being stuck here, it's the chance to catch all the concerts and movie premiers we want. We'll know way in advance! Damn... we'll be in our 70's before we can see Star Wars again." Amy tried to block the troubling thought from her mind. "People who say they want to know the future are idiots. Not knowing is easy, it's knowing the worst is about to happen and knowing you can't do anything to stop it that's hard."

"I've been stuck on the slow path before." Rory replied. "Imagine 2,000 years worth of history unfolding in front of you... and you have a plastic hand that doubles as a gun." He chuckled.

"Oh, my God!" Amy grabbed her husband's hand as she saw the musicians come to the stage. "It's Billie Holiday! I haven't been this excited since I met Nefertiti. No, since I met Van Gogh."

"You met Vincent Van Gogh? How have you not told me about this?" Rory asked surprised.

"You didn't exist then, it was after you died. You hadn't reappeared in my mind as a Roman Centurion yet." Amy stopped to think about what she'd said. "We have to be careful. If anyone were ever to eavesdrop on us, we'd be sent to an asylum for sure." She joked.

Suddenly a hush fell over the cafe and the lights all dimmed, save for a single spotlight on Billie's face. A melancholy piano played out a long introduction with a pair of muted trumpets before she began to sing. "Southern trees bear a strange fruit."

"Oh my god..." Rory whispered. This was it, they were witnessing the first performance of the first protest song of the 20th century. Nearly 25 years before the civil rights movement of the 60's, Billie Holiday was crying out against the brutal lynch mobs and inequality of the races at a time where she could have easily been killed for speaking such words aloud. But Billie was no shrinking violet.

"Strange fruit swinging from the poplar trees.." Billie sang as Amy covered her mouth in shock. "... the bulging eyes and the twisted mouth.." She sang as silent tears fell from Rory's eyes. "...here is a strange and bitter crop..." Her voice rang out through the silence as she finished her song and all the spotlights went dark.

The lights came back up and there wasn't a sound to be heard. Everyone stood still as if the air were a thin sheet of glass. It was Amy who broke the silence as she slowly began to clap, others followed suit. After a moment, the busy sounds of muffled chatter and clinking cutlery resumed as usual.


End file.
